Beat It
by metameric1
Summary: Another Musical Daria riff in an alternate universe. Mystic Spiral falls apart, and Trent finds himself at something of a crossroad...
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay, now for something that is set in High School times. Definitely an AU, and another Musical Daria thing.**_

 _ **Standard Disclaimer applies. Daria and friends are the intellectual property of MTV/Viacom or whomever has acquired the rights. This story is a work of fanfiction and nothing-NOTHING-of value was, has, or ever will be exchanged for its creation. No disrespect of the original creators is intended, and this work will be taken down immediately should the owners of these characters request it.**_

 _ **Beat It**_

 _ **Chapt. 1**_

She flipped on the basement lights and made her way down the stairs. _Where the hell was it?_ She just wanted to find her library book and get the hell out. Maybe she had left it on the old couch- she and Jane had left in a hurry when that epic fight broke out between Max and Nick.

Trent had tried to break it up, and he and Jesse had followed them out of the house to separate them and to try and calm them down. That probably meant that they had gone off to separate bars.

Imagine, a bassist and a drummer that couldn't get along.

It was probably the reason that the Spiral could never really get it together. Trent sounded pretty good when he practiced by himself, but when you threw them all together it somehow just didn't mesh right.

That had all gone down a half hour ago, and not without leaving a black cloud in its wake. Jane had just left for a long run to help de-stress. Who knew when Trent and Jesse would make it back? No matter what happened, they had to deal with cancelling tonight's gig, and maybe figure out what came next. Most likely they'd be gone for hours.

 _Dammit, there it is._ The book was due back today, and she hadn't finished it, which irritated her to no end. She stuffed it into her backpack and was heading back up the stairs when she noticed a low buzzing sound.

Nick had left his amp on. Figures. His bass was standing upright, shoved through the head of Max's big floor tom. What a pair of idiots. A couple of the cymbal stands were knocked over, and stuff was lying everywhere. Trent had mentioned that the drum kit was a cheap one made of mongrel parts that Max didn't really care about; he'd just dragged it over and left it in the basement so he wouldn't have to move his gigging kit in and out every time they practiced. Still, that was no excuse for trying to trash it.

Same deal with the bass amp. It was a beat up piece of crap that Nick had won in a poker game or something, and it lived in the Lane basement. He liked to bitch about how crappy it sounded, although Daria suspected that it had more to do with his lack of talent.

She switched off the amp, nearly tripping on the snare drum on the floor. It looked like they really had tried to kill each other. With a sigh, she began to set things back upright. Aside from the unfortunate floor tom, the rest of the kit was more or less intact.

What was so hard about pounding on a bunch of drums anyway? It always seemed like a good way of releasing stress. You could imagine that you were pounding on Kevin's thick skull. Which one would that be? She picked a stick up off the floor and tapped on a few of the drums. Nah…they all sounded like they had more substance than what was probably between the quarterback's ears. She tried the bass drum pedal- no, that had some authority to it…kinda like Coach Buzzcut, back in Highland, or other people that ordered her around.

She brought the stick down sharply on one of the smaller toms that were mounted on the bass drum. Yup, that's what Beavis's head would sound like if you bounced it off the sidewalk. She reached down to retrieve another stick, and tried the other tom. Butthead.

This was _fun._

The high hat had a tinny sizzle that reminded her of Quinn. More so, when you brought the two cymbals together with the foot pedal. Yap, yap, yap. She slapped it with a stick, smiling as she began nodding out a satisfying beat. Yap, yap, yap, shut it, yap, yap, yap, shut it, yap, yap, yap, shut it, Buzzcut, Beavis, yap,/shut it, Buzzcut, Beavis, yap,/shut it, Beavis, Butthead, yap,/ shut it…

The snare sounded like Ms Li.

The big cymbal reminded her of Coach Morris. The tiny annoying one, O'neil.

There was a right way to beat on heads, she smirked. Kick drum, hi hat, snare. They seemed to work together, and you could get into a definite pattern. Years of listening to music had soaked in, and she began to find patterns that sounded good, rhythms that just sustained themselves as you beat on the vacant skulls of morons. She smiled as an image of the Goddess Kali surrounded by empty skulls flashed into her head.

Noticing the cowbell clamped off to Beavis, she gave it a shot. She found Kevin!

An hour later, she was exhausted.

 _That._

 _Was._

 _Fun._

* * *

Jane heard the sound of drums coming from the basement as she walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. Early afternoon was not a good time to be out running, but she'd had to get away from everyone for a little while.

 _So Max came back? Coulda sworn that that was the last we'd ever see of him… sounds like he's gotten better-oops, maybe not. No, wait-funny, that doesn't really sound like him. This drummer can actually hold a beat. Wonder if Trent's auditioning someone... This one sounds like he needs to practice a little more, but still…_

She popped open a can of cola and made her way down the basement stairs. Maybe this drummer was cute.

 _Woah._ A broad smile began to spread across Jane's face.

 _Well, well, well. My Amiga here has some chops!_

She hunkered down on the bottom step, amused and fascinated by the sight of the normally quiet Daria wailing away on the drums. Her eyes were closed, and her face intense and set. Her green jacket was thrown onto the sofa, and her t-shirt was beginning to show signs of real effort.

Daria was clearly new at this, and there were some awkward moments. She was freestyling, running on instinct. As Jane sat there in the dark, she was increasingly impressed- Daria was noticeably improving, the longer she played. She was a natural.

Finally the girl began to run out of steam and stopped. Rising from her seat on the bottom stair, Jane began clapping.

"How long were you sitting there?" Daria collapsed onto the couch, accepting the towel that Jane handed her. She was too tired to be mad or embarrassed; the endorphins were still carrying her along.

"Maybe twenty minutes. I went for a good long run and when I came home I heard you in the basement."

"Guess I got carried away. I'd forgotten something downstairs." She gratefully took a drink from the can of soda Jane offered. "Weird day. Hope you at least got a good laugh out of my playing."

Jane laughed, shaking her head in wonder. "Daria, you were damn _good._ I know what crappy drumming sounds like. I've had to live with the Spiral sound for years, remember? This is the first time I've heard any real talent on drums in this basement."

Daria didn't say anything for a moment.

"It was _fun,"_ she finally admitted.

"Wanna _jam?"_

"Huh?"

Jane got up off the floor and pulled Nick's beater bass out of the floor tom. "What an idiot," she muttered as she checked out the controls. Plugging in, she switched the amp on.

"You know how to play bass?" Daria blurted.

"Sort of. Always liked it, but I never wanted to play with an idiot like Max. I kinda fooled around with this when nobody was around." She tuned up and set the tone the way she liked it- bright and articulate. She didn't like the setup that Nick favored, all muddy and blurry to cover up shitty playing. Nodding out a beat, she tore into a rusty but passable slap bass line, laughing at her own flubs from time to time.

Daria watched her best friend having a good time, and then got back on the drummer's throne. She grinned, nodding along with the beat before she jumped in.

* * *

"Eeeew, Daria, what happened to you?" Quinn whined. "You're like all sweaty and stuff."

"Nothing, Sis. Just got some exercise." She was in too good a mood to be nasty to the little princess.

"You?" Quinn rolled her eyes. "As if." She went back to her phone call, totally missing the look that crossed her sister's face.

 _I was thinking of an E-drum kit, since I'd be able to play with headphones…but an acoustic set would totally piss you off._

She dug out a pair of shorts and a tee, and headed for the shower.

A shower and a sandwich later, Daria was on the internet researching.

* * *

The following week brought some interesting changes in the Morgendorffer household.

"You bought your own drums?" Jane leaned against the lockers. _She's really getting serious about this. Maybe it's not just a passing interest._

"Yeah, but Mom made me move them into the garage. She got mad when she was trying to work."

"I guess that was to be expected," Jane smirked.

"Yeah. I kind of figured that might happen. Thing is I think the temperature and humidity swings in the garage might be a problem. My drum kit was made in 1970, so I'm a little worried about the wood shells shrinking, warping or cracking."

"You bought an old kit?"

"It's actually collectible. It was made during the last year that the Slingerland family ran the company, before they sold it to a big corporation. If I lose interest I'll be able to recover my cost. If I wait a few years, I'll turn a profit, if I keep it in top shape."

Jane smiled. "You could move it into our basement. Max took all his stuff and went home."

"He officially quit?"

Jane nodded. "Deadwood's gone. Nick quit too. Took his bass but he left that old amp."

Daria frowned. "So the Spiral…"

"Is kinda dead. Trent's really bummed about it. I haven't seen him for a couple of days now. Said something about getting a _job_ if you can believe that."

"The change might do him good. Give him time to think."

"You actually bought a drum kit," Jane said after awhile. "Gonna start a band? I think I know where you might find a guitarist."

Daria almost hurt herself doing a eyeroll. "Right."

"He's not that bad, you know."

"Didn't say he was. He sounds pretty good when he plays by himself." She finished changing out her books and closed her locker. "Look…honestly, I bought those drums because it felt good fooling around on Max's set. It's a great way to vent, and at first I kind of liked the idea that it was gonna piss off Quinn."

"I thought you two were getting along a little better these days."

Daria leaned up against her locker. "I know. Old habit. Now I feel kinda bad about it." After a moment, she sighed. "She actually took my side when mom got mad. I think she actually believes it might be good for me."

"That's kind of a surprise. Quinn might actually understand how cool her big sister really is."

Daria snorted. "I'm not sure I'd go that far. But she did suggest that we just add a little more padding to my room to soundproof it better. She said that the drumming didn't really bother her. She actually said she kind of liked it."

"I was serious about your moving it into our basement. Hey, you and I had fun playing, right? Trent has an old bass in the basement that kind of works."

"I never thought music was your thing. I've never seen you touch a bass before."

Jane nodded. "Music's always been Trent's. I just fooled around with it, when nobody was around. That was before you and I met."

* * *

 _Screw it. Maybe I should sell my amp. It's probably worth some money now… it was old secondhand stuff when I bought it, but now it's 'vintage.'_

Trent toweled himself off and thought about getting something to eat. _I should see if Janey's hungry. Guess having a regular paycheck's not that bad._

He picked his clothes off the floor and got dressed, hanging his store employee badge onto his doorknob so he'd find it in the morning. Looking around, he gathered up his laundry, and checked Janey's room to see if she had dirty clothes laying around. She wasn't home, but her backpack lay open on her bed, and it looked like she had been doing homework. Probably out hanging with Daria or something.

He called in a pizza order, making sure there would be enough for Janey and Daria if they came back hungry.

After starting the wash, he checked the pantry to see if there was anything besides bread and peanut butter they were getting low on. It was kind of weird at first, but the grocery store was on the way home from work. He'd stop by tomorrow evening.

On the way home from the damn _mall._ He'd never thought that he'd ever be working for the _man_ , and here he was, doing a regular gig, selling guitars instead of playing them for a living. What a cosmic joke that was.

It was all right. At least he was around the stuff he loved, music. He got to play with the latest gear, all of it made in China these days. Made his piece of crap Fender Bandmaster valuable though, since it was hand wired and had vacuum tubes in it. Most everything these days was full of technology, and he had to study the sales summary sheets in order to figure out what the hell it was he was trying to sell to some kid who only wanted to play covers so he could impress chicks.

Not that the old dudes who sometimes wandered into the store out of a bit of nostalgia were much better. If he had to listen to another badly played _Deep Purple_ riff from the 70's he would scream. Yeah _, Smoke on the Water_ was a cool song, but he was sick of hearing it.

"Doesn't anyone play anything _original?"_ he had groused to Jack, the store manager.

"Dude, most of this stuff is gonna be sold to kids that'll maybe get a shitty band together, play a few parties and then wind up gathering dust in a basement or garage after they leave for college. They get caught up in dreams, until reality comes around and gives them a swift kick up the backside."

 _Not gonna let that spoil my day._ Trent thought about the bottle of No-Doz in his locker, but he figured he had earned a real cup of coffee after that unsolicited reality check.

 _Maybe Jack didn't mean it that way, but he had kind of just described Mystik Spiral. It was a dream. Or an excuse. Whatever it was, none of them had worked hard enough at it, least of all himself as the de facto leader of the band. But at least they tried to never play covers, unless the gig was a party or something where they had to put out to satisfy whomever was putting out the bucks._

 _It had been total bullshit, if he were to be brutally honest about it._

He rummaged around in the now-stocked refrigerator and came up with a bottle of beer. Opening it, he carried it to the living room to wait for the pizzas.

He was considering turning in a little early tonight when he heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Janey, Daria and another girl bringing some things into the house. Hollow, thumping sounds that seemed familiar somehow.

They sounded like they were kind of struggling, so he got up and wandered over to help.

He wasn't prepared in the least for the sight of Janey, Daria and her sister Quinn carrying in what appeared to be a set of drum cases.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Beat It**_

 _Chapt. 2_

"Thanks," Daria flushed slightly as Trent took the kick drum case, setting it down on the floor.

 _Nice legs._ The thought came unbidden and Trent had to mentally slap himself. Daria had on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers on her feet. Kind of like she was going to the gym or something.

"More stuff outside, right?" He looked around the girls to note the red SUV backed into their driveway. He stepped outside and pulled out the case he knew would be the heaviest one, the long rectangular hardware case.

 _Wow. This stuff is pretty old, but it's good quality. What the hell is going on?_

"Thought she was over that crush," Jane smiled from behind him. "You got that? Took two of us to get it in the back."

"Think we kind of agreed that we'd never work," He said quietly as he balanced the case on his shoulder. "And you agreed to quit messing with her about that."

"I'm not." She pulled out the cymbal case and closed the rear hatch. "This might sound a little weird, but she bought this kit after she spent a little time fooling around on Max's drums the day of that big fight. Turns out she has kind of a natural aptitude for this."

"So why is this stuff going into our basement?" _Best to get this straight before any misunderstandings happen. Not like I don't trust you, Janey, but…_

"She was practicing on it until her mom got home, and then we loaded it up and drove it over here. Her mom had wanted it moved out of the house and into the garage, because it's so loud. Seems like Daria's gone a little obsessive, no surprise there, and she's not keen on leaving this stuff set up in the garage."

"Yeah, if these are as nice a set as these cases seem to indicate, they're kinda valuable." He glanced at the stickers and road rash on the cymbal case Jane was holding. "Pro grade touring stuff. Looks like from the 70's. So what's going on?"

Jane hesitated a bit before answering. "We just wanna play around with this. I kinda taught myself a little bass awhile back, and she and I started to play when I caught her on Max's kit. It was fun, and I want her to stick with this for a while. It really seems to mellow her out a lot, and it's a good physical workout. And I _like_ playing with her."

"Drum and bass." Trent smiled.

"Is this okay with you?" Daria appeared in the doorway. "We should have asked first." She pulled at the hem of her shorts, still a little self-conscious in front of Jane's older brother.

"Sure," Trent smiled at her. He couldn't help it. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Music is your thing," she said after a moment. "It's just…messing around for us. I don't want you to think that Jane and I are invading your space, or trivializing-"

"Daria, the Spiral was just _…"What? A hobby? An excuse? Lame? Yeah, that's it. Lame._

Jane and Daria looked at each other after a moment.

"Daria's right, I should have asked before springing this on you."

"Naw, it's okay. I need the break to figure out what it is I should be doing anyway." He stepped towards the door. "Let's get this stuff downstairs."

Daria grabbed one of the handles of the cymbal case. It really wasn't all that heavy, but it was something to do. They followed Trent towards the basement door.

"Maybe you could sit in with us, if you want," Daria said quietly. "I mean, after we get a little better at it."

"Daria, you're already better than Max," Jane laughed.

"And Janey's probably better than Nick," Trent grinned. "Just not into grunge."

Jane looked over at her brother. "That was _your_ thing."

Trent laughed. "What I grew up with. Always knew you had broader taste in music." He moved carefully down the stairs with the heavy case.

"You should see Daria's CD collection. And her weird playlists."

"I remember looking at those when we stayed over that time," Trent laughed. "Cool stuff, Daria."

"It is," Quinn agreed, looking up. She and Daria had brought down the other cases. She carefully lifted out the kick drum. "She's letting me go through her collection. Lots of interesting stuff. I never really heard of a lot of those older bands, like _Weather Report_ , or _Dream Theater._

"Or Gene Krupa," Daria smirked.

"Buddy Rich?" Trent didn't remember the older Jazz CDs, but they must have been there on her self.

Jane nodded. "And the _Afro Cuban All-Stars,_ Tito Puente, and Australian Aboriginal dijidiroo."

"I had never heard of _Everclear,"_ Quinn said. "They're really cool."

"Enough," muttered Daria, clearly getting a little embarrassed at this discussion.

"Whoa, this is an awesome kit, Daria," Trent said, surprised. "Where did you find it?" He picked up the ride cymbal. "These are old school Zildjians. And that's…a Ludwig Black Pearl fourteen inch snare, right?"

She nodded. "I bought this off an Associate Professor of Ethnomusicology at Lawndale State. Seems like they don't get paid very well, so I gave him what he was asking. Made a big damn dent in my Montana Cabin fund.

"The rest of the kit is vintage Slingerland with matching custom ordered Black Pearl wraps," Daria nodded. "I figured I wouldn't lose any money if I wound up selling them later."

Trent smiled. Figures Daria would have researched the hell out of it before buying anything. These were classics. The snare was one that Ringo Starr of the Beatles played often, actually a Jazz model. All of the pieces were in surprisingly good condition, considering they were more than forty years old.

He watched as she set her kit up on the old square of carpet that Max's crap drums had sat on. She'd gone with a modern chain drive kick pedal, with its companion hi hat pedal and stand for consistent action. He'd learned a lot about drums from Jack, who was a drummer when he was younger.

They heard a pounding on the front door. "Hey, anybody here?" The pizza guy yelled.

"Anyone hungry?" Trent asked, heading upstairs. "I'll bring it down."

Quinn followed to give him a hand.

After they had disappeared up the steps, Daria turned to Jane.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I should have gotten an electronic kit."

"I heard they don't play like acoustic drums," Jane smirked. "They're not the _real thing."_

"None of that. You promised," Daria glared. "He and I are friends. We would never work out."

"Whatever," Jane sighed. She plugged in the ratty bass and tuned up.

* * *

Trent paid the delivery guy and indicated the pantry. "We might have some diet soda in there. Monique used to keep some around."

"Your girlfriend, right?" Quinn asked innocently.

"Ex. We've been for a while now. We used to argue a lot about commitment and all that, and it seems she was right about the band."

Quinn found a diet cola and rinsed the dust off the can under the tap. Still, the Lane kitchen seemed a lot cleaner than the last time she had been here.

"Glasses are above the microwave," Trent said, gathering up some paper napkins and plates. "Quinn, no offense, but I thought you and Daria didn't exactly get along."

She shook her head a little sadly. "Yeah. But she and I are coming around. I don't want us to end up like our mom and her sisters. I had a tutor over the summer, you know, to help bring my grades up. She began helping me after that when she figured I was serious about it."

"So you're down with this thing Daria's into now?"

"It's good for her. She never used to get enough exercise, and this is really helping with her mood. Besides, it might get her out more. Maybe get her over that jerk Tom."

"That was a real mess," Trent nodded. "Glad the girls got that sorted out."

"Yeah," Quinn smiled. "Maybe I could get her to date if she loosens up a little more." She took one of the pizza boxes from Trent and piled sodas, cups and a plastic bowl of ice on it, using it as a tray. She headed for the basement door. "She's reaally cute when she gets into playing, you know," she added with a grin.

Trent did a mental facepalm since his hands were full. _Oh, crap. Jane's backed off, and now Quinn's taking over._

* * *

Daria and Jane each had a couple of slices. Quinn gave Jane the finger when she started ribbing her about eating cheese.

"I'm gonna start," Daria said as she stood, wiping the grease off her fingers with a wet-nap. "If I keep eating I'm not going to practice."

"Slavedriver," Jane grumbled, but she got up too. She gave Quinn a smirk as the younger girl pulled a small plastic box out of her pocket and put some earplugs in and settled back to enjoy the show. She noticed how Trent slowed down his eating as Daria settled in behind the drums. _From where he's sitting, he can see her legs._

"Glasses, sis." Quinn stood and took Daria's glasses, so she wouldn't throw them off when she really got going. They also kept her from seeing them watching her, so she wouldn't get self-conscious.

Trent noticed the evil smile on Quinn's face as Daria started off working her hi-hats and the two smaller toms, playing them almost like timbales against the beat of her kick. Jane nodded along to the backbeat, and then laid into a creditable funk groove. Daria cut in with a rapid series of buzz rolls on her snare, and they were off.

Quinn watched Trent out of the corner of her eye. _Set the hook, Sis!_

Daria's long hair was wild as she lost herself in the beat, mentally picking up where she had left off in her garage. It was so much better with Jane's bass. She slid into a bit of a percussive pop/slap loop on her G, playing the string open and then up an octave, and then a seventh. She backed down quickly, as the old bass's setup was pretty buzzy up the neck and the intonation was crap. She was trying for a bit of treble in the mix, sort of an invitation for a certain guitar player.

Still, it was cool, and it flowed. Maybe they didn't have a lot of training, and they occasionally veered off into some weirdness, but the two of them just clicked.

Trent found himself being a little jealous of his little sister. They seemed to have some kind of telepathic link going.

And what was it they were playing? Whatever it was, it was musical, and it was original.

Quinn sat back, nodding along to the beat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trent, grinning like a fool.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Beat It**_

 _ **Chapter 3**_

Jack closed the door to the drum room, and looked around for Trent. Through the double-glazed picture window Daria was visible, tearing into a smallish Premier kit with a woofer doubling the length of the kick drum. Even through the glass, she could still be heard.

"So what do you think? Awesome, right?" Trent smiled as he watched her. Her eyes were closed, head back, corners of her mouth turned up in that slight smile that settled on her face when she was in flow. God, she was beautiful.

"A natural," Jack nodded. "You say she's been playing only a couple of months? I don't really know what else I can suggest- I showed her a couple of alternate grips, switched her out to sticks more suited to her strength, stuff like that. She's not gonna get much louder than that and I'd never push her to be louder. She's got an incredible ear for this. I showed her a few advanced fills, and she just picked up on them." He shook his head.

"She's pretty amazing," Trent said quietly. "Doesn't matter what it is, if she wants to do something she does it right."

"I showed her a polyrhythmic fill that was a bitch for me to learn and she nailed it." He laughed. "It kinda pissed me off, her doing this just for fun. She says she really likes playing with your sister."

"Yeah, they go at it for hours. Janey's gotten pretty good too. She needs a better bass, for sure. She's using an old Aria Pro neckthru that I really need to get fixed for her, but she won't give it up."

Jack nodded. "Those older Aria electrics are real sleepers. Nice build quality, if anything sometimes the pickups fail. They use this weird P-Bass style double coil in a small case and the wire is super fine."

"Huh. The neck pickup _is_ out on her bass, so she's using the bridge. It also needs a good setup and new strings."

"She hold her own with her?" He indicated Daria with a tilt of his head.

"Pretty much. They just seem to play well together."

"How tall is she?"

"About five-seven, five-eight," Trent said. "Why?"

Jack motioned him over to the used rack. "Check this out." He pulled down a four string bass that looked smaller than usual. "Thirty-two inch scale length, instead of thirty-four. Doesn't have the deep low end of the longer scale standard basses, but if she's happy with the sound of the bridge pickup she's into a brighter, more articulate tone anyway."

"No name on this."

"Homemade, but whoever built it was good. I looked in the trussrod pocket-two way rod, with two graphite reinforcements. Really light swamp ash body with a figured laurel droptop, hard maple laminated neck. Bartolini active electronics, Hipshot Ultralight tuners, the works. Killer setup, _and_ a new set of Rotosound Jazz strings. The cost of the hardware and the wood is more than what we can sell this thing for, since moving a noname is pretty much impossible. Take it home and let your sister try it. If she likes it, make me an offer. I'll probably take it."

"Cool."

"That way you can bring in her bass. I'll take a look at it myself, so if she doesn't want this you can give her back her Aria ready to go."

"Man, Jack, that's really cool of you to do that."

"Hey, she's your sister. Maybe you can buy me a cup of coffee and get me an autographed picture of these girls when they get famous."

* * *

Jane sat at the kitchen table, nodding her head to the beat coming from the basement. Daria had already finished her paper for Demartino; Jane wasn't far behind thanks to Daria's suggestions. She never thought she'd be anxious to get her homework out of the way on a weekend, but Daria was being a pain in the ass about it. No homework, no playing. Sometimes she dragged Quinn along, and they sat at the Lane kitchen table doing homework and Daria working with her sister on a range of subjects.

Quinn usually split after hanging out for an hour, watching and listening while the two older girls practiced. Jane would sometimes see Quinn nodding her head to the beat and scribbling in a notebook, an odd, pensive expression on her face.

It struck her how the two Morgendorffer sisters had more in common than she had realized. Daria had begun to back off with the keep-the-hell-away-from-me style of dress that Jane had long gotten used to, and more often than not would wear a comfortably fitting pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt to school. As the weather shifted into the fall, she began wearing oversize flannel men's longsleeve shirts over the tee for a little more warmth. She'd find them at the thrift shops that Jane frequented for cheap art supplies and other weirdness for whatever project she might be working on at the time.

They'd head over to Jane's house, where they'd eventually wind up downstairs playing for at least a couple of hours. The jeans were much better for the usual drummer's stance; she would sit with her snare drum on its stand between her legs, which splayed out slightly for the kick drum and hi-hat pedals.

Both of the sisters were exceptionally pretty. These days, Daria was less concerned about her looks, and tended to simply ignore classmates she didn't want to interact with. At the same time, she was mellower and more approachable for others. For her, being less concerned about her appearance meant that she actually looked nicer. Jane did notice that despite her past color selections, Daria actually had a great color sense and would wind up with these thrift shop ensembles that actually worked for her. Weird.

Quinn, on the other hand, didn't fall back on picking on her sister about her 'unfashionable' wardrobe and lack of makeup. She'd been spending less and less time with that vapid Fashion Club and the rumor was that Sandi had put her on a 'fashion sabbatical', whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. To Jane, it seemed that Quinn had moved on from teen fashion magazine trends and was dressing in a way that simply worked for her.

The younger girl seemed more thoughtful these days. Sometimes, if Jane were in a bad mood for whatever reason, she thought that Quinn was in the middle of working out a complex plan for world domination. Whatever it was, it was becoming clear that Quinn was a lot smarter than Jane had thought.

She'd even hung out a few times with her. Daria had been careful to not dominate with her new obsession; more often than not she'd call a halt so that Jane would still have time to paint. Quinn had tagged along out of curiosity to see just what it was that made her sister's best friend tick.

Jane thought back to that afternoon when Quinn had sat on her floor, taking in the weirdness that was her room. She'd expected some stupid comments from the redhead, but she'd been denied that. Instead, her best friend's younger sister quietly and slowly looked around.

Jane didn't know what had happened that afternoon as the two sisters walked on to their house. Daria had long recognized the symptoms of Muse seduction and had left with Quinn so Jane could paint in peace.

Daria noticed Quinn's odd silence. "Are you okay?" she asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

The younger girl slowly nodded. "I'm fine. It's just that… I never realized how talented Jane is." They walked on, Daria processing her sister's comment and failing to come up with an appropriate response.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Beat It**_

 _ **Chapter 4**_

Trent finished stringing up his guitar- he had traded in his old Telecaster when a Gibson 335 semi-hollowbody showed up on consignment at work. It was what was known in the trade as a player, not a closet queen. It was pretty scratched up, not too pretty, but it was basically in good shape and affordable. The heavy strings that were on it were a little much for him, although he could appreciate the tone. Even the new set of elevens were a stretch for him, since he had long played tens on his Tele. Daria had talked about a darker, mellower tone, so he went for it.

He had to agree that it suited her style. Woody and clean, it was a lot more demanding than the stuff he'd been accustomed to fronting Spiral. Taking Daria up on her earlier suggestion, he had been hanging out in the basement when he wasn't at work, immersing himself in the musical explorations of the two girls. He would sit back in the couch, offering suggestions when asked, and flipped through the stacks of music theory books that Daria had brought from the library.

It was fascinating to him. Her approach was cerebral, as suited her intelligence, but she seemed to be actively making room for a more intuitive, gut-level approach. She relied on Jane's creative spurs and the odd comments that she'd solicit from him.

She was a lot like Brian Eno with David Byrne of the Talking Heads, he realized. Her approach was clearly Jazz influenced, experimental, avant-garde, fearlessly crossing styles and cultures. She seemed fascinated by that polyrhythmic fill that Jack had taught her, and that led her into the intricate structures found in music from Africa, with its superimposed time signatures, sort of how Byrne began to be influenced by Fela Kuti.

It was, in a word, refreshing. She had the soul of an artist. Most musicians he knew, himself included, were more into the lifestyle. More posers than artists. Jane used to bitch about that whenever she'd check out the 'serious' art scene that didn't see a high school kid as someone worth acknowledging.

Daria's sound was way different from the way Max played; he just went for loud and aggressive, while she was much more precise and soulful. She lacked power, but you could tell that she knew exactly what she was doing. She had more musical spirit in her little toe than Max ever had. He used to remind him of those battery-powered toy monkeys that would bash a pair of cymbals together over and over until the batteries died.

And he, supposed leader of the band, had just gone with it, instead of dealing with the confrontation and replacing him, along with Nick. Trent cringed when he thought about the stuff they used to get away with on stage. No wonder the Spiral never went anywhere.

He'd pick up his acoustic from time to time and riff as he listened, not aware of her glances until she stopped and asked him to plug an electric guitar into an amp so she could hear what he was doing. It wasn't long before he found himself caught up in that weird Morgendorffer-Lane groove.

* * *

Jane pushed away her notebook and stretched, looking at the expression on her brother's face as he worked on the guitar. Daria was downstairs, warmed up and already going at it.

"Never thought I'd be liking a Gibson," he mused, adjusting the intonation on the unfamiliar bridge. "Gotta admit that it's kinda grown on me."

"I like playing with her," Jane said, skimming her homework for mistakes. "But it's got to be a stretch for you. "It's kind of like it's really her sound. Are you honestly okay with this?"

"I'm just along for the ride, Janey. It's kinda like a musical roller coaster."

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "You can do better than that."

After a moment, he shrugged.

"She's kinda bossy sometimes." His tone was flat, but not hostile.

Jane nodded, but said nothing as she stuffed her homework into her backpack.

He clipped a tuner on the headstock and checked the tuning again. "She basically came out and told me the Spiral sound was crap."

Jane stood there, her mouth falling open for a moment. "That's not true, she just said that there was room for some experimentation and there was some new ground-"

Trent shook his head, and juggled a couple cans of soda and his guitar on the way to the basement door. He turned to her when Jane began to follow. "Miss Morgendorffer and I have a few things to work out. Give us a few minutes."

Jane watched as the basement door closed in her face.

 _Crap_. _What just happened?_

* * *

Jane watched as Daria slid into the booth across from her in the usual fashion. Whatever had gone down in the basement didn't seem to have upset her much if at all, although she was a bit quieter than usual.

The two of them had emerged after a little while, and Jane found herself following them out of the house for pizza. She was starting to feel a little testy at missing out on practicing, and apparently being kept in the dark about something.

Trent walked back from the counter, having placed their order. Jane scooched over to make room for him as was customary.

Instead he slid in next to Daria, who not only did not move away from him, but actually sort of smiled.

"You ask her," he smiled.

"Mister Lane and I had something of a little discussion about the point of all the time we seem to have been spending in your basement. I've been doing this because from my perspective, it's been a lot of fun. I like playing. It's been increasingly enjoyable as we've begun to work out something of a style, if you will. He's has suggested that we make it official and call ourselves a group. Or a band. Ensemble. Whatever."

Jane crossed her arms. "Do I get a say in this?"

Daria stripped the paper wrapper from her straw and pushed it into the cup of crushed ice and soda in front of her. "It's not like we figured this out behind your back. We're asking you what you think right now. I've just been turning over the idea in my head so far."

"Janey, I knew you used to fool around with Nick's practice bass but I never really knew what you could do. You and Daria totally click, and this starts with you two, if you're down with it."

Jane sighed, sitting back in her seat. Maybe she was just being pissy, but she couldn't help feeling that _something_ more complex was going on behind her back.

"Sure. What the hell, I'm always up for a little public humiliation."

Daria smirked. "I'm still not seeing how Trent never suspected that you could actually play."

Jane just shrugged. "The Spiral grunge sound was his. I liked more aggressive, assertive styles, not just playing the tonic and following the drummer. I liked players like Jaco Pastorius, John Myung, Michael Manring… not even in the same universe. I mean, a monkey could play like Nick."

Trent's expression shifted. "He wasn't _that_ bad."

Jane sat back, arms crossed. "Your drummer and bassist were holding you guys back and you _knew_ it, and you didn't do anything about it."

Trent didn't respond at first. Finally, he sat back and sighed, nodding.

"Jane, where does music fit for you?" Daria was serious. "It can't be as important to you as your art."

"No. To be honest it's kinda competing for my time. It feels like there aren't enough hours in a day. I mean, it's a _rush_ to play with you. Even more so, when Trent jumps in. It's kind of addictive."

Trent smiled. "That, anyone could see. Anyway, it's really kind of your sound. You and Daria's. I'm just kinda helping out. If we do this, I guess it would be Daria's lead."

Jane nodded. "Works for me. When we play, I'm doing what feels right based on what she's doing. But we're the rhythmic frame. You've been contributing the melodic component, and I've been responding to that as well."

Daria took a sip of her soda. "Don't think there's any leader yet. When Trent started to play, it added coloration to our framework. Fleshed it out. Without him, it's almost meditative. When he comes in with a tune, it becomes more real. It was one thing when I was pounding on drums by myself, it became another when Jane began to play. Now it's different again with Trent."

He laughed. "Doesn't sound anything like the Spiral. I've been trying to figure out what it is. It's a lot more thoughtful, really progressive. Don't think the crowd at the Zon would get it."

Jane smiled. "Maybe that's why I really like it now. It feels original."

Daria smirked. "I can make it so it's got a beat and you can dance to it."

Trent managed to snort a bit of soda out his nose.

"Let's record some of this stuff and see what kind of reaction we get," he suggested after wiping himself off with a napkin.

It was Daria's turn to sit back with her arms crossed. "I need you guys to know that right now, I'm doing this for fun. I'm getting through my last year of high school right now, and after that I'm going to college."

Trent nodded. "I get that. I'm kind of looking forward to this as a kind of experiment. God knows I wasn't getting anywhere the way things were going."

Jane nodded. "Okay, so l'm willing to see what happens. If we can do this without killing each other, at the very least Trent gets a chance to try some new things, and hopefully we'll stay friends." She grinned, not wanting to be misunderstood.

"Fair enough," Trent agreed, putting his hand on the table. After a moment, Daria put hers on his, giving it a little squeeze.

Jane lifted an eyebrow, and then placed her hand on theirs. "Until the end of next summer."

Daria felt her fingers tangle with Trent's as Jane pushed her hand down harder than necessary. Trent didn't seem to mind.

* * *

"I was wondering where everyone was," Quinn slid in next to Jane, putting a diet cola down on the table.

"You disappeared before I left the house," Daria shrugged. "I thought you wanted to talk about that paper O'Neil assigned to you guys."

A smile formed at the corners of her mouth, immediately reminding Jane of Daria. "Sandi called a 'special meeting' of the Fashion Club," Quinn brought the back of her hand to her forehead in a faux swoon. "I was officially kicked out this morning. For being an unfashionable _Brain."_

Daria raised an eyebrow in the ensuing silence. "You don't seem to be terribly broken up about this."

"Welcome to the Dark Side, youngling," Jane intoned.

Trent just laughed. The girls joined in.

Quinn held up her soda, initiating a toast. She shook her head as she looked from Daria to Jane. "I formally apologize for being so full of myself for the last couple of years."

"Here's to getting a real life," Jane smiled. "You can hang out with us."

"You're not that bad, Daria's Sister," Trent grinned.

She gave him a look. "If you weren't Daria's _boyfriend_ and if I wasn't so thirsty, you'd be wearing this soda."

She laughed as her sister went red and Trent's eyebrows shot up. "I'm kidding."

Trent got up to go get the pizzas, a smile forming on his face as he turned away. Daria facepalmed. "Just as I was beginning to admit that you were my sister," she growled.

Quinn turned to Jane. "You guys looked like you were plotting or something."

"We kind of decided to actually call ourselves a band."

"Or ensemble. Whatever," Daria intoned again.

Quinn eyerolled. "About time."

"So any ideas for a name?" Trent asked as he put down the large combo carnivore special.

 _"Contrapasso,"_ Daria said without preface. Apparently, she'd been thinking about it.

Trent nodded. "Figures. _Poetic Justice."_

Daria raised an eyebrow; Quinn smiled.

Jane just sat back in her seat, shaking her head. "Daaamn."

"What?" Trent said after a moment. "That's from _Dante's Inferno,_ right? A punishment that fits a sin. I like the sound of Contrapasso. Your idea of penance for _me,_ right?" He smirked at Daria, who had cracked a rare smile.

"Yeah, Trent. I'm gonna work your butt off for slacking with the Spiral."

"Bring it on, book girl," he laughed.

" _You_ read Dante's Inferno?" Jane goggled. "And you _remembered_ it?"

"Hey, O'neil assigned it in my senior year. I thought it was cool and tried to get some lyrics out of it. Sucked, though."

Daria's quiet smile broadened. "You or Dante?"

Trent laughed and pulled her into a side hug, resting his chin on her her head and playing up Quinn's joke. She blushed a little, but didn't pull away. "Dante, of course."

Quinn helped herself to a slice of pizza, picking off the meat with her fingers and putting it on Trent's plate. "So are you guys gonna play Nerd Conventions or something? You sure won't sell at the Zon. _Contrapasso_ is too weird for those guys, and you'll just confuse people at the Prom."

"You got a point, Red," Jane smirked.

Quinn narrowed her eyes at the artist before deciding she didn't mind the moniker. "I've been checking around. There's a thing going on at Lawndale State University just before the Winter break. The music committee is willing to listen to samples, so if you guys can pull enough dumbed-down material together to do a set, I can get them to consider _Contrapasso._

Trent nodded. "A College crowd. Good idea."

"Do a good job of it. If they book you I'll get Mike Walker of the _Baltimore Sun_ to go check it out."

"Who's that?" Jane asked, swallowing her mouthful.

"Music Critic at the big Baltimore paper," Daria said, sipping her soda and studying her sister.

"Get me some tracks, and while you're at it some video of you guys practicing would be nice. I'll set up a website and get the video up on the net." Quinn got out her phone and started a document. "Female drummers and bassists are kind of unusual, so I'll play that up. And of course," she smiled at her sister, "your ' _boyfriend'_ is pretty cute."

Jane smiled. She'd never seen that particular shade of red on either of Daria or Trent's faces.


	5. Chapter 5

**_woohoo! not dead yet! Sorry for falling off the radar for so long, but weird things have been going on._**

 ** _Oh, yeah, disclaimer. What I said about the intellectual property ownership- not my characters except for the minor ones I've popped in there to move the story along. No money being made here, all this work is just for fun and to keep these cool characters alive..._**

 ** _-M1_**

 _ **Beat It**_

 _ **Chapter 5**_

Jane opened the door to find Helen Morgendorffer standing there. It was late Sunday morning, and the workaholic lawyer lady was heading to the office and had apparently decided to stop on the way. She'd been calling occasionally over the past few weeks, wondering what had become of her eldest daughter.

"Daria's having a good time down in the basement. Since her drums are so loud she practices over here. You might talk to her about getting a set of electronic drums, so she could practice in her room." Jane figured that she'd put that out there and set the ball back in Helen's court, so to speak. It wasn't that Jane minded that Daria was practically living in her basement, but she didn't want to be subjected to one of Helen's occasional Mama Bear episodes.

"Hey, Mrs. M," Trent looked up from his laptop, where he was updating an inventory spreadsheet and chatting with a distributor on the west coast. "Our store's got a pretty good selection of E-drums over at the mall. They kinda feel different from acoustic drums, but I get the feeling that Daria could play anything. She's a natural at this." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Helen.

"I'm off on Sundays, so if that's when you go there tell the manager Jack that you're Daria's mom. He knows her. He owns the shop, and handles the drum and percussion sales himself. I do the guitar sales," he said by way of explanation. "He'll give you a decent discount. Any other day, I'm there till six."

Helen wasn't sure what to make of this situation. Trent seemed genuinely impressed by Daria's playing, and she _had_ always encouraged Daria to broaden herself. Drumming seemed to be excellent aerobic exercise, and her sour attitude seemed to have improved since this obsession had started up.

"You really should check out her playing, Mrs. M," Jane indicated the basement door. "She won't even know you're there. She gets totally focused." She glanced at the kitchen clock. "I need to go and practice with her for a bit. Otherwise she gets grumpy," Jane said with a smirk.

After a half hour watching her daughter and her best friend playing, Helen quietly left them downstairs. She found Trent still sitting at the kitchen table, now going through the household bills.

"Pretty amazing, aren't they?"

"I never realized…" Helen said, a bit of confusion in her voice.

Trent laughed. "I know what you mean. I kind of knew that Jane taught herself a little bass; she'd always liked the sound even as a little kid. She'd go downstairs and fool with Nick's practice bass sometimes, but she'd keep the volume down. I never really heard what she was doing."

Helen raised an eyebrow at that, not sure if she believed him. From what she had just heard, Jane was an accomplished bassist, easily keeping up with Daria's shockingly excellent playing.

Trent easily read her vibe. He sat back and stretched. "Mrs. M, Janey listened to my band because I'm her brother. Her taste in music is more in sync with the kind of stuff Daria seems to like. She's okay with a little grunge and alternative, but her musical center was always in another place. She was never really into the kind of stuff I used to play." Trent smiled. "She and Daria used to like to make fun of us most of the time."

"Used to?"

"My old band, Mystic Spiral. We sort of fell apart." He sat, head tilted, listening to Daria and Jane in the basement. "I'm trying to catch up to those two," he said somewhat ruefully.

"They sound _really_ good together," Helen admitted, trying to wrap her head around things.

"The drummer and bassist are symbiotes," Trent explained. "They're the rhythmic backbone of modern music. Those two just _get_ each other."

"Daria's a writer, not a musician," Helen stated, more to herself than to Trent.

"She's _creative_. It all comes from the same place," he replied, as though it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

* * *

Trent emerged from the stockroom, iPad in hand. A shipment was due this afternoon, and he had to make sure the returns were ready to go back to the distributor. Looking around, he noticed Jack grinning and nodding along to a killer beat coming from the drum room. There was a little crowd of customers at the glass window, apparently liking what they were hearing. Most were dancing in place, unwilling to move and lose their spots in front of the window.

Jack tilted his head in response to Trent's raised eyebrow. "Your girl and your sister's in there. I think they wanted to take you out to lunch or something."

 _My girl? I wish._

What the hell were they playing? He listened for a few bars. James Brown? Funkadelic? No, but definitely in that groove. Smiling, he stepped over, grabbing an electric and a small combo amp along the way in response to Jack's nod.

One of the customers opened the door for him, and moved to close it until Jack kicked a doorstop into place.

Trent plugged in, and nodded as he listened before he jumped in with both feet. Janey was working high up the neck, popping this weird line with a jump to the subdominant on the turnaround. James Brown meets the Beatles. Only those two would think to try that.

He latched on to that interval change and improvised a melodic line, mixing it with rapid, muted string chops that played with Daria's beat. Janey gave him room and dropped an octave, the whole thing sliding into a pulsing, irresistible whole. The sound was cutting edge, while at the same time it was something of an homage to exciting times past. Daria's Mom and Dad would probably love it. Hell, if they had keys- an old Hammond B3 organ, with that classic Leslie shimmer! A good synth player might just nail it. But do we want a forth? Maybe a guest keyboard player?

' _I could make it so it has a beat and you could dance to it.'_

Thinking about that, he couldn't help but to laugh out loud. Yeah, she did, didn't she?

Jack was grinning ear to ear as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and began recording video. He held it as high as he could, the people clustered at the window moving in sync with the sound that filled his store. Out in front of the store he could see kids breaking out into spontaneous dance steps. He could hear Daria's alto throwing some lyrics out there, and Trent's voice in response, but it was lost under the sound of amplified bass, guitar and drums. He should have had a drummer's vocal mic in there, and made a mental note.

What was it that Trent had said about that girl? She was one of these quiet, brainy women that had a mind that could eviscerate you without descending to the level of _ad hominem_ dreck, should you be stupid enough to piss her off.

That was the day he had found Trent in the break room, reading a dog-eared copy of Shakespeare's _Sonnets._ He had to smile at that. The poor guy was done for.

Jack sighed, shaking his head. He had hoped Trent would stick around; the customers loved him. Still, he knew that sending that bit of video to a few friends of his was the right thing to do.

* * *

"Okay, you guys are in for the Harvest Festival," Quinn announced as she made Jane move over and helped herself to a slice of pizza. "They loved the videos on the website. Got enough material for a forty minute set?" She thumbed her phone and pulled up the calendar for November. "You have three and a half weeks. I need to get copies of lyrics for the songs that you guys have added vocals to."

She looked up to three people staring at her.

" _What?"_ One word, three voices, six raised eyebrows.

Daria recovered first. "Forty minutes? Maybe, if we come up with a couple more. I know we have six solid pieces. If not maybe we can discuss politics or religion between songs."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Please don't. These are college students but there's no guarantee that they'll get your sense of humor."

"Hey, maybe we should run an ad in the Lawndale State student paper and let them know what kind of produce they should throw at us," Jane smirked.

"Tradition demands eggs and overripe tomatoes," Daria smirked. " _Rotten_ eggs, but they're actually kind of hard to find nowadays. They'd have to buy them early and keep them without refrigeration. My guess is that they're too lazy to do that."

"They'd have to spend their own money, too. Oh well, so much for free food,"

Jane smiled.

"At least they won't be throwing bottles," Trent laughed. "Plastic cups, since kegs are cheaper. Hey, are we getting paid?"

"Fifteen hundred," Quinn smiled proudly. "I opened at a couple thousand, and we settled at fifteen. That's five hundred each."

Trent glanced at Daria and Jane, who looked a bit like a couple of deer in headlights. "That's _awesome_ , Quinn," Trent laughed after a moment. _The Spiral never made that much._ "But it shouldn't be split only three ways. What about your cut?"

"What cut?" She smiled at her sister. "I'm just kind of helping out. Nobody asked me to be the manager or anything. I'm doing this for Daria and you guys. You know, for helping me with my schoolwork."

"I'm just give you a hard time, Pinky," Jane smiled. "Daria's the one helping you out."

Quinn chewed slowly, smiling. "I thought I was _Red_. I'm okay with that. _Pinky_ sounds like a cat or something."

"I'm cool with you hanging with us, if that's what you're talking about," Trent said after a moment. He gave her a lopsided grin. "You're totally all right. Not like when I first met you. You were totally a pain in the ass back then."

Quinn flicked pepperoni at him. "Thanks loads."

"You should still get a cut," Trent repeated. "You're really helping us out. Usual percentage is fifteen to twenty-five." He looked at Daria and Jane, who both nodded their agreement.

"Five percent. Starting with the _next_ gig I get for you guys. Take a favor!"

"You started and run the band website, and now you're getting us paid gigs," Daria leaned forward. "You're good at it, and I have a pretty good idea of how much time you're putting in."

Quinn shook her head. "Next time. We'll see if I can do it again. Let's just say it's my contribution to Jane's College fund."

Daria glanced at Quinn after a moment. She'd also seen that odd expression that had flickered for a fraction of a second on Jane's face.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Beat It**_

 _ **Chapt. 6**_

Indeed, the Harvest Festival at Lawndale State had gone well.

By the time December rolled around, _Contrapasso_ had a serious following, at least from an older College and young professional crowd. Quinn had quietly put her obsession and expertise with social media to work for her sister's benefit. Despite the differences they may have had in the past, she was proud of her sister's talents.

So what if the sound of her band didn't exactly appeal to the high school crowd? It was pretty clear that _Contrapasso_ didn't follow popular trends, and it was now apparent to even the dimmest Lawndale High School male that there was more to Quinn's quiet, brainy sister than anyone had suspected.

Didn't hurt that she was actually kinda hot, too. How had most everyone missed that?

* * *

Mack had to smile as he watched Daria shoot down yet another fool trying to ask her out. She'd dropped the old outfit she'd worn for as long as Mack had known her. These days she favored jeans and t-shirts, saving the trouble of changing before heading off to practice with Jane and sometimes Trent, depending on his work schedule.

"You better watch it, Morgendorffer," Jodie snickered. "You might be the first person to actually sprain their eyeballs if you keep rolling them like that." She had to admit, Daria was being a lot mellower these days and was actually able to see the humor in the situation.

"Laugh it up, Landon. You're lucky that your boyfriend is the only guy worth dating around here." Daria had to smile at Mack's spit-take.

As far as guys went, neither Daria and Jane had any use for the drama of high school society and had checked out, pretty much waiting out their senior year so they could graduate. Sure, they were civil and didn't go out of their way to cut anyone down anymore. They just didn't care these days. As the name of the band pointed out, everyone in the end was their own undoing- sometimes, in unexpected ways.

Jane handed Mack her napkin.

"Thanks," he offered. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," Jane grinned. "Can't see the spots for all the paint on my shirt anyway."

Mack wiped the front of his sweater. "Is it my imagination or are you two using Jodie and I as human shields?"

"No, it's just that you two are the only intelligent conversation around here that doesn't come with too much weirdness as part of the deal," Daria deadpanned.

Jodie smiled as she returned with more napkins. "Li is still pissed about you guys turning down performing at her fundraiser fair."

"We didn't turn her down. She just didn't like the terms I laid out," Daria clarified.

Jane grinned. "Not claiming credit for her _outstanding_ music program, since Daria and I never took band, for one."

"And not diverting any revenues into anything other than academics," Daria added.

"It would still be good publicity for her and 'Laaaaawndale High," Jodie laughed.

"I figure she'll capitulate soon enough, once she realizes that. I really don't have a problem with it, since it would make for a pretty nice extracurricular on our school records. Besides, it'll be good exposure for Trent." Daria slipped and let a small smile show.

* * *

She stood before the portal to the pink palace, and raised her hand to knock on the doorframe.

"Hey, Sis."

"Hey, _Rockstar."_ Quinn couldn't help but smile. While Daria didn't show it, she was baffled, not used to in the least with dealing with the unwanted attention of teenage boys.

Daria growled in frustration. "I need your help."

Quinn could never understand how someone so smart could be so thick sometimes. "Sis, it's easy. Just have Trent be your fake boyfriend."

Daria leaned against Quinn's doorway, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"Look, I'll spread it around at school that you're _unavailable._ We'll just let them draw their own conclusions. You back it up by being seen somewhere public with him holding hands or something."

Daria nodded after a long pause, no longer quite focused on the conversation. "Yeah, that'll probably work. Thanks, Quinn." After a moment, she turned to go.

"Anytime," Quinn smiled after her older sister. _Fake, indeed._

* * *

Trent smiled as he put his arm around her waist, feeling her slight shiver at the not quite familiar contact.

"Aren't you eating with us?" She paused, her hand on the door of Pizza King.

"Actually, I gotta go. I'm running a staff meeting at the store in a half hour. But let's deal with your problem first." He followed her into the restaurant and waited a bit before placing his hands gently on her shoulders, turning her to face him.

"I'll call you after the meeting," he said a little louder than usual, placing his fingertip on her chin. Without warning, he pulled her into a kiss.

On the lips.

With tongue.

With that, he left.

Daria resisted the urge to facepalm. _He's doing it for effect, that's all. It's an act. It doesn't mean anything. Why would I care anyway?_

But it sure didn't seem that way. He kinda seemed to enjoy it.

And why did she return the kiss in exactly the same way it was delivered?

It was _nice,_ she realized, turning to face the now quiet restaurant. Jane waved happily from a booth. Jodie and Mack sat with her, bemused smiles on their faces.

She made her way to them without further incident. She was oddly calm, but fully aware of the eyes on her.

"Excellent histrionics, Morgendorffer," smirked Jane quietly as she moved over to make room. "Very convincing."

"Thank you, thank you very much," replied Daria, in a surprisingly passable Elvis.

"So," Jodie laughed, "is he good in bed?"

"Olympic material in competitive sleeping," huffed Daria. "Shut up."

"Figures you'd go for older guys," offered Mack. "He's, what, five years older or something like that? And your Mom's a lawyer too. Brave guy."

Jodie had to ask. "So when _is_ your eighteenth birthday, Daria?"

"About six months."

"Jailbait," Jodie laughed.

Daria dropped her voice, the better to preserve the illusion that Trent had worked so hard to create. "It's _not_ an issue."

"Yet," deadpanned Mack. Jodie punched him in the arm.

"All righty then." Jane grinned, placing her hands on the table. "May it be noted that I never said a freaking thing during this peculiar and rather randy digression. I shall not be accused, _kapische?"_

Jodie laughed, digging through her backpack. She handed Daria a small square packet. "Here. Just in case."

Daria frowned, looking at the prophylactic in her hand. "Oh, goody, my favorite brand."

* * *

Sure enough, Quinn was right. Word of the little performance at Pizza King had spread and served to sufficiently demotivate potential suitors, which was fine with her.

So why had Trent insisted on dropping them off at school, complete with an encore performance?

Not that she was upset about it. She'd played along willingly. In fact… if she was perfectly honest about it, she had enjoyed it as much as he seemed to.

"Hey, Daria," called Jodie, walking up briskly with a smirk on her face. "You called it. Li's ready to meet your terms, I think. She wanted me to ask both of you to see her before the bell."

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more." Daria muttered, as they turned towards the office.

* * *

"Holy crap," Jane whispered, looking out from behind the high school auditorium curtain. "It's a full house!"

"Must be Quinn's work," Trent grinned. "Too bad we don't get a cut of the door." He checked the wireless feeds to the PA that Jack had borrowed for them tonight. It was compact, but state of the art and surprisingly clean. Mick, the store gearhead, had jumped at the chance to play with it and had volunteered to mix for them.

"But we do," Daria smirked. "Not much, only a dollar per head, but it was my idea to do this set in the auditorium as a separately ticketed show."

"And while I appreciate the credit, I think that this might have more to do with the attendance," Quinn grinned. She pulled out a newspaper clipping.

"Whoa," Trent raised an eyebrow. "This is a Harvest Festival music review from Mike Walker, in the _Baltimore Sun!"_

"And who at Lawndale High actually reads a real newspaper?" Daria asked with genuine curiosity.

"It was reprinted in the school paper yesterday," Jodie grinned.

"And it's _very_ favorable, and it specifically mentions the two beautiful and talented high school players in _Contrapasso._ " Quinn's smile widened. "Apparently he was sent some material by an _anonymous_ fan. I got permission to put the article up on the _Contrapasso_ website, too."

The lighting in the auditorium was barely adequate; after all it _was_ a high school. Still, the theater techs that Li had dragooned into helping tonight were having fun lighting the performance. Someone had actually explained to them the connection to _Dante's Inferno,_ and the trio had stepped on stage silhouetted against a flaming glow on the backdrop before the stage lights came up.

After a few minutes into the set Daria had pretty quickly sussed out that the younger-skewed audience was getting a little lost, not quite able to appreciate some of their more refined and serious stuff. Catching Trent's eye, she muted her vocal mic and mouthed _fuck it._

With that, she shifted to a more visceral feel, and they began to freestyle. Jane grinned, and without a word the three of them decided to see if they could get the audience up on their feet like they had done that afternoon in the store. The new wireless transmitters plugged into Jane's bass and Trent's guitar let them begin to really move with the beat.

 _Let's just jam, do what feels right. Mick will be recording this, so we can go back and listen and analyze it later._

Daria had to hand it to him; Trent knew how to work an audience. He had stage presence, and damn he looked good from where she sat behind her drums.

Jane had that hip bassist vibe turned all the way up, her instrument hung slightly lower than usual, looking cool as hell. Daria hadn't noticed it before, but the Lane siblings moved with the powerful, athletic grace of two black panthers. For herself, she was finding the impromptu experiment in mind control fascinating, and at the same time the thrill and terror of performance was exhilarating.

At the Harvest Festival- their first really big, serious gig- she had discovered, much to her surprise, that her initial stage fright actually morphed into a kind of hyperawareness. Every nuance of her mates- the glint in Trent's eyes, the curve of his eyebrow, the set of Jane's jaw as she slid her hand up the neck of her bass- it was like they could read each other's minds. That night, Trent had summed it up afterwards, as they relaxed on the basement couch.

"That's what's supposed to happen- when you play live, you have to reach out and touch the soul of your bandmates, and let yourself open up. When you groove together, it's like we become one. If you let anything get in the way of that touch, it kills the magic. The Spiral never had that- well, maybe Jesse and me did, a little, but that shit between Max and Nick… I might as well have been sitting in the basement by myself, playing all the instruments track by track and mixing it down into something that kind of sounded like a rough idea.

"There was never anything more, nothing more than the energy I put into it myself. The Spiral was an imaginary band, like a tea party with a bunch of stuffed animals sitting round while I convinced myself how cool it all was."

He had leaned into Daria slightly as they sat on the couch that evening, something that perhaps substituted for throwing his arms around her to thank her for the greatest musical night he could remember for a long, long time.

For herself, Daria had been savoring the rush as well, in her own methodical fashion. She thought about the energy she could feel coming off the audience.

 _It was how you knew when you were doing it right. It was the same way a viewer was drawn into a painting; the hungry silence of listeners at an author's reading; the resonant motion of heads and feet as an audience got into the music._

 _That was what made live recordings sometimes magical, despite the technical difficulties of recording a live performance. True, there were those times where the players were just going through the motions, faking it because they were tired or pissed or maybe just fulfilling a contractual obligation, or when the creativity and rightness was no longer the important thing._

 _No, more often than not, it was in those obscure recordings made on crappy equipment in small clubs that sometimes-sometimes- held that magic. It was when you gave in to the music, and let it all out for just a little while._

And _Contrapasso_ had done that. The three of them had done it together, at the Harvest Festival, and again at the school fundraiser tonight.

 _And it had been freaking awesome._


End file.
